


Falling

by ametis



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Hannibal, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 11:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11440236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ametis/pseuds/ametis
Summary: Post S3. Hannibal and Will's first time.





	Falling

After the fall, Hannibal waits for Will to leave.

He waits and waits, and when it doesn’t happen, he isn’t sure what else to expect. With all his insight and knowledge about human nature, Will is still unpredictable to him, overwhelmingly so in his newly found peace with himself.

They eat and sleep and live. Sometimes at the same time, sometimes at different times. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is that Will stays.

Over time, a change occurs. They start getting up at the same time, start eating breakfast and dinner together. Will talks more. He smiles more.

Hannibal is too distracted by his presence and knowing gaze to expect more. Usually, when he allows himself to think about having Will, the evening consists of soft music and dinner. Kisses in the study. Then the trip to the bedroom.

He’d be careful and gentle, hurt Will in a different way.

But Hannibal doesn’t indulge in that fantasy often, opting instead to devote his energy to the actual events that brought them here. It doesn’t cease to exist, though. Somewhere in the vast palace of his mind it waits to be fulfilled.

What really happens is premature and hasty. Imperfect.

Hannibal, despite the jolt of annoyance, doesn’t miss the irony; it took them years to arrive at this point, but they fall the rest of the way in minutes.

It happens after a long morning of working in the garden. Will insists on doing it alone, Hannibal insists on helping him until it’s time to prepare lunch. Will’s hands are dirty and his shirt sticks to his back by then. The earthy scent around him makes Hannibal salivate; musk and soil, living things. He wants to taste him like this.

After lunch, they drink cold home-brewed beer, and Will moves closer to Hannibal. “You don’t know what to do with me,” he says. They’re sitting side by side on the porch, looking at the swaying trees in the backyard. Will clings to his beer bottle like a drunk man.

Hannibal watches his hooded eyes and wetted lips. His curiosity sparks. Technically, he had known since a well-timed phone call. Not the entirety of it, of course, but enough to continue. He had become certain after killing Tobias Budge and seeing Will victorious and radiant. Powerful. And now all of Will’s attention is directed at him, and not for the purpose of stopping him. It’s overwhelming in a way he isn’t used to.

“Yes,” Hannibal says.  

Will looks down at the space between them. A harsh laugh falls from his mouth. “After everything you’ve done to me, you think this is going to piss me off.” The smile slowly fades. His throat works around unsaid words. “Is there.” Blush rises to his neck. “Would I need to look up whatever you want to do to me?”

Hannibal finds it amusing until the full meaning of that sentence sinks in. Then he almost forgets how to breathe. “No,” he says, wondering what Will would allow, where his limits lie.  

“What then?” Will asks. “What are you waiting for?”

“You never indicated that you’re interested in a physical relationship.”

The air seems to be void of all sound and movement. They are engulfed in silence. Expectations rise. Disappointment is a word away.  

Will finishes his beer and puts the bottle away. “I’m indicating now.”

Hannibal can see that, the physical signs of it; Will’s chest lifting and sinking faster, his thighs spreading almost imperceptibly. Hannibal moves closer. “There is no need to look anything up,” he says even though he would love to poke at whatever scandalous thing Will has come up with. Perhaps another time, because before he can gather his thoughts enough to say more, Will takes one of his hands and puts it on his own crotch, exposes his neck and says, “Put your mouth on me.”

The animal part of Hannibal’s brain zeroes in on the right sternomastoid, visible as Will angles his head, zeroes in on the jump of a pulse. Life and blood. He latches on for a taste. He should kiss Will and take him upstairs, or postpone this until after dinner, but Will shivers under his tongue, hisses, “ _Yes_ ,” and the fleeting plan Hannibal had for this, dissolves completely.

Will’s breath starts to come quicker when Hannibal sucks at the flesh between his lips. “Yeah,” he pants and blindly reaches for his jeans, opens them.

Hannibal doesn’t stop him.

Between his legs, the scent of life. Rich and intoxicating. The only reason Hannibal doesn’t taste him is because he doesn’t want to stop counting Will’s heartbeats with the tip of his tongue. It’s a heady thing, having Will half-naked under his hands. Hannibal has seen him kill and protect. He knows him in distress and anger, and now he knows this, too. It nurtures the hunger inside that always asks for Will. For more. For everything.

“Like uh, like this,” Will says and puts a sweaty hand on top of Hannibal’s to show him what he likes. His mouth falls open when Hannibal complies and starts the pace Will desires. “Yeah,” Will says, voice thick. “A little tighter.”

Hannibal does as he is told and watches Will tense over. His eyes roll back behind the paper-thin skin of his eyelids, his mouth goes slack.

For a minute, there’s only the sound of Will’s increasingly heavy breathing and Hannibal’s hand on him, slick from his excitement.

Hannibal watches, takes in, feasts on Will’s flushed skin, his trembling lips, the sweat starting to form anew in the hollow of his throat. Will is more vocal than Hannibal had expected him to be, more demanding, too.

“Bite me,” he says when he gets close, chasing his own pleasure and expecting to find it at Hannibal’s hands.

It’s exhilarating.

Hannibal closes his teeth around soft flesh, tightens his fingers a little more, and Will comes with a hoarse cry.

The sharp scent of his release fills the air around them, hot and heady. Hannibal feels a little dizzy from it. He lifts his hand to lick it clean.

Will groans. “You – do you like that? Is that a thing for you?” He crowds Hannibal in against the armrest of his chair, still panting, his jeans still undone so Hannibal can watch his erection slowly subside, wet and ruddy, resting against his thigh. The skin and hair around it damp with sweat.

“Do you like to use your mouth?” Will asks and puts a hand down Hannibal’s pants. He doesn’t bother with opening them completely or pushing them down Hannibal’s hips. He just reaches in, grips too tightly at first, then a little gentler. “Does your obsession with food extend to this?” His teeth find the soft skin on the side of Hannibal’s neck, sink in slowly. He’s good at it. Clever. Remembering how Hannibal had touched him, loosening his grip. His rough hand feels divine on Hannibal’s sensitive skin.

“You’re very quiet,” he says after he's coaxed Hannibal into full hardness.

Hannibal says, “Yes,” because it seems to be the only thing he is capable of saying in this moment. Or perhaps ever. Saying no to Will is a foreign concept to him. It gives him pause, but then Will leans in and kisses him. Slow like an afterthought. Gentle like he’s trying to coax more out of him than an orgasm.

Hannibal comes with his breath shuddering in his chest.

For a blissful moment, his thoughts grind to a halt, the world stops spinning; he only exists in his shivering body, in the peak of pleasure.

Afterwards, though, he remembers the haste of it, the ruined clothes, their glasses and bottles still on the table.

His thoughts circle back to it until late into the night, until Will knocks on his door, a pillow under his arm.

Hannibal pulls the sheets aside so Will can climb into his bed.  

His mind goes blank soon after.

-

It happens again a couple days later. Will still warm from sleep at Hannibal’s back, sucking on his neck, pushing his erection against Hannibal’s hip, against the swell of his buttocks.

“I would suggest using the bed,” Hannibal says. He is standing at the sink in the bathroom, fresh out of the shower. The bruise on his neck is a soft brown. Will does his best to make it bloom red again.

“Don’t stop,” Will gasps.

Hannibal doesn’t. He reaches back and gives Will his hand, and Will uses it quickly, clutching at him.

His release drips down Hannibal’s thigh afterwards, and Hannibal has to step into the shower again.

-

The next time, they use the bed.

Hannibal makes pancakes with blueberries, coffee with a dash of milk for himself and black for Will, brings everything up to the bedroom.

Will thanks him, but he is hungry in a different way. He sucks on Hannibal’s fingers, drinks the gasp from his mouth and presses their bodies together, curious.

The food goes cold on the nightstand as they shed their clothes.

Hannibal’s skin feels too tightly stretched over his muscles and bones when Will finds his way inside him. His hands reduce Hannibal to a mess one finger at a time.

It takes a while, and longer still until Will can replace his fingers with his erection.

“Wait,” Hannibal says accidently. He wants to bite his tongue off, stuff the word back into his mouth, but it’s too late. Usually, he doesn’t experience pain like others do; he pockets it and inspects it later, doesn’t let it hurt him. But it’s been a while. He’s vulnerable here, too, pinned by Will’s gaze alone. Naked in more than one sense. His body struggles without his permission, tightens, shakes, and Will waits.

Waits.

He presses down on Hannibal’s trachea, slow. Either because he thinks it’ll distract Hannibal, or because he knows he’s allowed to do it. Then his hands slide up into Hannibal’s hair, and he leans in and kisses Hannibal with pouting lips until they turn blood-red.

It loosens something in Hannibal and it’s enough to make his body pliant. He spreads his legs wider and takes Will’s lust like he took everything else, takes all of it, devours it — the jerky rhythm of his hips, his hungry groping hands.

“Can you come like this?” Will pants above him. He does his best to fuck a climax out of Hannibal; one hand flat on his chest, the other on one thigh, pushing the leg up, out of the way. Making space inside Hannibal for himself.

He could cut Hannibal open if he wanted to. From groin to throat, and Hannibal would still encourage him to take more, to find a place that hurts more, to live inside him.

“Can you?” Will asks.

Hannibal isn’t sure it’s possible for him. His body is just a body after all, skin and nerve-endings that respond to touch. His mind has always been more sensitive, though. He lingers on the thought that no one else had done this to him, no one who had seen him and known him. It makes his mind spark, his body shiver.

“Oh,” Will says. He touches Hannibal’s mouth gently, as if he’s stealing the power that lies beneath it, too, and Hannibal comes because he knows it could happen so easily.

“Oh,” Will says again and presses up close to Hannibal, clutching his leg and filling him up.

Afterwards, Will watches him, his gaze calculating. His seed slowly drips from Hannibal’s body. Hannibal is reluctant to go to the bathroom.

-

“Are you reading the entire book tonight?” Will says as he slips into bed late one night, naked and visibly interested in other things than books.

Hannibal marks his page and puts the book on the nightstand. He was expecting it — Will hadn’t initiated anything in the last couple days. He has been waiting. The mere thought excites him now, his body doing its best to prepare for Will’s touch. “It can wait for a minute,” he says.

Will grins at him as he pulls him down and covers his body with his own. His hand lands on Hannibal’s throat, squeezes gently. Then he replaces it with his mouth.

Hannibal waits for the bite, precise and sharp, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Will licks at him, sucks softly, places kisses up his neck and jaw until his finds Hannibal’s mouth. He kisses him chastely, close-mouthed and slow. Hannibal is the one to turn it into something more erotic.

He’s trembling by the time Will breaks the kiss and leans up over him.

“Can I?” Will says. He pushes the sheets aside, pulls Hannibal’s pajama bottoms down and off, and then presses their bodies together again. “Can I fuck you?” he whispers against Hannibal’s mouth.

Hannibal had been a little sore after their last night together, but he wants it. He wants Will any way he can have him. There’s something different about Will tonight, too, and Hannibal wants to explore that. “Yes,” he says. “Yes.”

Will kisses him, slow and deep, his hands sliding over every inch of skin he can reach like this.

His touch sets Hannibal’s skin on fire. He looks up at Will unblinking, unable to form words and ask for it.

“Yeah?” Will says.

Hannibal nods and watches Will prepare his fingers for him, sucking them first, then coating them in lube. He kisses Hannibal while he works him open.

“Am I hurting you?” Will asks and Hannibal tightens around him involuntarily. His hand shoots down, catches Will’s wrist. He teeters on the edge for a second, distracts himself by biting his own lip.

“You should’ve told me,” Will says after the tension leaves Hannibal’s body. “That you want it like this.”

“Will—“

“You should’ve told me,” Will repeats. He adds more lube and another finger, and gently starts moving again, ignoring Hannibal’s grip on his wrist, working against it.  

“Anything,” Hannibal says. “Anything you want—“ Then his voice catches in his throat. He groans at the precise work of Will’s fingers, at the heat of his mouth as it lands on his chest, on the spot over his heart, slides down the length of his torso, lingering between each rib.

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” Will says before he puts his mouth on Hannibal’s cock. He suckles on the tip of it, coaxes more pre-ejaculate from him.

Hannibal watches for a minute, then pulls him up and kisses the taste of himself from his lips. “Now,” he says.

Will is slow to comply, slow as he starts moving once he’s inside him, and Hannibal is close already. Will’s undivided attention makes him shake. He fears when Will finds the right angle he is going to shiver out of his skin, break entirely.

It doesn’t take long. Hannibal yells and digs his nails into Will’s back, holding on for dear life. He tries to smother the noise, but with Will on top of him, whispering praise into his ear, it’s impossible.

“Got you.” Will tightens his arms around Hannibal and holds him through the slowest fuck of Hannibal’s life.

By the time he starts moving a little faster, his face is flushed and wet from sweat. “Hannibal,” he whispers. “I’m going to come.” His slick belly presses more firmly against Hannibal’s erection, and Hannibal is right there with him. His arms and legs hold onto Will, caging him, wanting all of him inside. He shivers apart when he feels Will orgasm.

After, Will opens the windows and holds Hannibal’s hand. He smiles at Hannibal in the dim light of the bedroom. “Chesapeake Ripper likes it slow,” he mutters, sleepy. “Who would’ve thought?”

Hannibal wants to tell him that it’s his doing. Everything he is now, he became because of Will, because of his rejection and acceptance.

He’s too satiated and tired to say any of it, though. Tomorrow then.

He smiles back, holds Will’s hand tighter and closes his eyes.

 


End file.
